Chapter 5
The witching hour draws near,” Naomi warned with a spooky waggle of her fingers.
Her friend had to lean near Sharyn’s ear to be heard. The thumping music threatened to deafen the crowd packed into the Forum. Their small group had arrived an hour ago and had taken up roost on a second-floor balcony, where they could gaze down at the mass of bodies below.
The raucous bash filled the spacious hall—called “The Street”—which connected the various facilities of the university’s central hub: the student center, an alumni auditorium, and the main campus library.
Still, the cavernous space failed to adequately hold in all the revelry.
Partiers spilled out through the north and south exits to the open plazas beyond.
“If it’s the witching hour,” Sharyn shouted, “we’re certainly dressed for it.”
She smoothed the black dress that hugged her figure much too tightly. The rented outfit, courtesy of Naomi, came with a matching cowled cape, which Sharyn kept demurely draped.
“Aren’t we a tad on the nose with these costumes?” Sharyn tipped up the silver pentagram that hung on a chain between her breasts.
Naomi shrugged. “If the student body is convinced that we came to Exeter to cast spells and perform dark rituals, then we might as well look the part.”
“As witches?”
“As sexy witches,” Naomi corrected.
Tag leaned on his cane. “I prefer sexy necromancer.”
The young man wore a black suit with a blood-red vest over a frilly collared white shirt. He had powdered his face to a paler-than-usual complexion, while hollowing out his eyes with dark makeup. He had also swapped out his usual cane for a more elaborate one with a silver owl gracing its top.
“We’re sexy indeed,” Naomi concurred, circling an arm around Tag’s waist. “So we might as well flaunt it.”
Sharyn stood at the balcony rail. Below, revelers danced to pop music, while others gathered in groups, laughing and carousing. It was supposed to be an alcohol-free event, but she spotted flasks being surreptitiously passed around. The more brazen drank openly.
She shook her head, intent on getting out of here as soon as possible.
And for good reason.
Directly across from her was the entrance to the university’s new main library. It stood as a stark reminder of the responsibility thrust upon her. In the rush of the evening, she’d had no time to adequately digest what had happened.
Professor Wright’s final warning echoed in her head.
Trust no one . . .
Earlier, on the walk back to her flat, Sharyn had hurried between lamplit pools, searching for anyone following her.
Eventually, the cool night and the lack of any obvious threat calmed her pounding heart.
Still, once home, she had tried to back out of the party, but Naomi had already rented their costumes.
Plus, if her friends left, she did not want to be alone in their flat.
“What’s wrong?” Tag asked, as he stepped next to her. His brows were knitted in concern, proving his empathetic nature. “You’ve been unusually quiet.”
Another remained oblivious.
Behind them, Naomi swayed by herself to the beat of the music, while holding out her phone on its selfie stick, commemorating this night on her WitchTok site.
Tag waved below. “Is it this pissed lot? Everyone’s already pretty scuttered. I know you don’t like being around—”
“It’s not that.” Sharyn stared up at the spread of the roof, which was divided into large triangles of glass and slatted wood.
“Then what is it?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t told her friends what had transpired. Her silence had less to do with the professor’s warning—trust no one—and more to do with her own struggle to come to terms with this sudden responsibility.
Keep it safe.
Back at her flat, she had hidden the book in her room.
She remained nervous about leaving it behind.
Their corner of town—what she could afford even with two roommates—was in a sketchy area.
Last week, there had been a break-in down the block.
And with the boisterous nature of Halloween night, she questioned the wisdom of letting the book out of her sight.
Still, she had no other choice. Her tight dress, even with the cape, offered no place to hide anything, especially something as cumbersome as the book.
“Do you want to get some fresh air?” Tag offered. “It’s getting stifling in here.”
Sharyn nodded, unable to hide her relief. “Dear god, yes, let’s get out of here.”
Naomi glided over. “Sounds good. I’m gonna try to bum a fag.”
Tag frowned. “Smoking? Really?”
With his cerebral palsy, Tag found it distasteful for anyone to take needless health risks.
“I don’t do it much. Only on special occasions.” Naomi smiled as she headed off. “And it is a holiday.”
They crossed down the stairs and worked through the crowd—which amped Sharyn’s tension.
She shoved hurriedly through the exit. Outside, the crisp autumn air was tinged with the smell of weed and cigarettes, but it was wonderfully cool and less crowded on the open plaza.
Most of the students here, many in amorous embraces, lounged across a set of wide, terraced steps to her right.
She drew her friends to the left, where a series of eco-ponds had been installed to store rainwater runoff. To enhance the look of a natural wetlands, the dark waters were fringed by reeds and dotted by lily pads.
Nearby, excited chatter rose from clusters of students at the plaza’s edge. Only now did Sharyn hear the blare of sirens past the loud music. Faces stared to the south, toward the rising noise.
Naomi headed toward the gathering crowd. “Something’s up.”
Sharyn swallowed and followed. The sirens jangled her already fraught nerves. When they reached the edge of the plaza, which overlooked the campus to the south, a fire engine blazed down Prince of Wales Road, followed by a blaring ambulance.
“Looks like they’re coming this way,” Naomi noted, which proved true as the emergency vehicles made a sharp turn onto the entry road, which led to the Forum.
Only, the fire engine braked a short distance up the side road, its lights strobing, its siren still screaming.
Tag pointed his cane. “Is that smoke?”
Lit by the emergency vehicles, a thick black column rose from a neighboring building. A ruddy glow shone from several of its windows. One of them shattered and cast out a gout of flames that licked across the brick facade.
“The Old Library,” Naomi said.
Tag lowered his cane and leaned toward Sharyn. “Weren’t you over there this afternoon?”
Sharyn backed up a step, as if trying to deny what was happening. She remembered Professor Wright’s warning: It’s not safe here.
Tag stared at her with those darkly painted eyes.
“We . . . we must get home,” she gasped out. “Now.”